


Theremin Dreams

by 823freckles



Series: Bleed to Love You [27]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dreams, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1650881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/823freckles/pseuds/823freckles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal and Alana dream of their child.</p><p>Day 29 of 30 Days of Hannibloom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Theremin Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t believe I have only one day left. I feel like crying right now; I’ve become so attached to this story.

_Six months later:_

Hannibal turned in his bed. An unfamiliar dream filled his mind as he descended into REM sleep. The dream was vivid, and beautiful, and Hannibal Lecter smiled in his sleep.

\--

A recording of “Over the Rainbow” on the theremin played in the background, the little girl’s favorite for bath-time. She still had the hair of a baby, fine and downy-soft. “Like Mischa’s,” he thought, as he poured a cup of warm water over her head. He thought he would always compare the little girl to Mischa, at least until she outlived Mischa. Then, would he begin to see her as separate? He knew he loved her as separate though; there was a place in his memory palace for Mischa, and now, an adjoining room for his daughter. It was a connecting room, yes, but separate, filled with echoes of his memories of Mischa and memories all her own. But this one reminded him of his beloved sister. Bathing his daughter reminded him of Mischa in her copper baby tub. 

He watched as her hands came together in the water sluicing down her cheeks. “Papa!” she giggled, managing to sound stern even in her three year-old’s laughing voice, “You got me!”

He leaned over the claw-footed bathtub filled only a few inches, massaging shampoo into his daughter’s dampened dark curls. “I’m sorry, mylimoji. Lean back, now, Abigail.”

The little girl tilted her head backwards. His own eyes stared up at him out of the tiny, angelic face.

\--

Hannibal opened his eyes in the dark of his and Alana’s bedroom. He felt the cool Tuscan air breeze through their open window. He stood up and walked over to the open window and stared out at the lights of the city of Florence in the distance. Then he turned back to his sleeping wife. He watched her eyes move under her eyelids. He wondered what she dreamed of.

\--

Alana sat across from a beautiful teenage girl in a red dress. The dress reminded her of her wedding dress, a lace sheath, except this one was more girly than sexy, with a bow around the waist. The girl had her own dark curls and Hannibal’s eyes, but otherwise, she reminded Alana of a girl she once knew. Alana could hear the distant whinny of a theremin when she tried to remember the girl’s name. Alana entered her own head and she pushed past the mental block. She found the girl’s name on the door of a dark, hidden away room in her memory palace. 

She read the name off of the door. “Abigail.”

“Yes, mother?” the teenage girl pulled Alana from her memory palace with her response.

Alana stared at the beautiful teenager and stated, “We named you after Abigail.”

In her head again, she reached out for the dusty door handle of the room labeled “Abigail.” She tried to open the door to the room in her memory palace, and found the lock did not turn.

“Don’t bother. What’s in there is not for you,” the teenager said.

Alana once again came back to girl sitting in front of her. She reached out and took a lock of the girl’s hair in her hand, then rested her hand against the girl’s cheek. Both mother and daughter smiled. “I need to know…” Alana’s voice trailed off.

Her daughter reached up and grasped Alana’s hand in her own. “No, you don’t, mom. You love Papa. He loves you. Let the past go.”

“Let it go?”

“Let it go…”

\--

Alana opened her eyes to see Hannibal standing at the window, staring at her. She smiled at her husband. He approached the bed where she lay and sat on the edge of the bed, smiling down at her too. Then he spoke.

“I dreamt of our daughter, Alana.”

“You did? I did as well.”

He reached out and stroked the smooth expanse of her swollen abdomen. He waited for his child to kick his hand. He felt a nudge against his palm, and smiled. “So it’s a female, then.”

“Our daughter.” Alana smiled at the thought of the teenage girl she’d seen in her dreams, and wondered how old their daughter was in Hannibal’s dreams. She thought about the previous six months. She didn’t remember a lot of what happened before. She knew Hannibal had a dark past. But she felt disconnected from it whenever she tried to think about it in depth. She heard the hauntingly beautiful warble of the theremin whenever she tried to remember certain key moments, and whenever that happened, her mind drifted away to happier times. A dinner with Hannibal, his warm embrace, his body moving over hers in the moonlight shining through their bedroom window: these were the things Alana Lecter remembered, and all she needed to remember. She knew there were missing pieces, but they no longer troubled her mind. And tonight, as Hannibal crawled back into bed, wrapping his arms around her and their child, she knew she would never be troubled by them again. 

“Hannibal?”

“Yes, my love?”

“I don’t need the drugs anymore. Or the hypnosis. I’ll stay with you. Forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is purposefully meant to allude to what he does to Clarice in the book Hannibal. If you were wondering. An old dog doesn’t change his tricks.


End file.
